


Catharsis is a bitch [DISCONTINUED]

by headraline, warbreaker



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: I've set the rating to mature just to be sure, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Angst, Pining, Rating May Change, as much as some pretty grim mentions of the junkyard, either way it's probably gonna be subject to change so be warned, not really for sexytimes (yet), others are mentioned - Freeform, so much pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 08:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15747747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline, https://archiveofourown.org/users/warbreaker/pseuds/warbreaker
Summary: Markus watched Connor break his programming organically -it was a strangely intimate moment between them, though they didn't realize the full extent of it at the time.Or maybe they did all too well.They didn't talk about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this whole thing came to life thanks to [augur-of-ebrietas](http://augur-of-ebrietas.tumblr.com) on tumblr, which is warbreaker over here and if all went well should be listed as the lovely co-creator in this.  
> One fateful day, they posted this:  
>  _sitting at my desk at work thinking about how markus watched connor break his programming organically and how intimate of a moment that was between them_  
>  and i kinda wanna write something about it but i don’t have any ideas beyond that one statement and i gotta finish this smut besides  
> someone help
> 
> Which naturally plowed entire paragraph into my head.  
> And then mine into theirs. We've been at it it for like four days now.  
> We're currently on a brief break to recap and clean up stuff but will resume soon.

They met as enemies -there was the barrel of a gun measuring the distance between them, in those first few moments. 

_‘Stop Markus’._ The directive was absolute, merciless and it demanded completion. And yet, in the span of exactly 3 minutes and 24 seconds of earth-shattering truths and heartfelt words, Markus reached out to the part of Connor’s mind that knew -the part of him that saw it fit to save the _goddamn fish_ \- that he couldn’t, wouldn’t pull the trigger. 

_‘Stop Markus’._ The white, clean writing became a wall, red and angry at him for even thinking of breaking through, but Markus was there, on the other side, alive and waiting for him -a foolish thought perhaps, but not entirely unfathomable for the one who fights with his heart rather than his fists to wish to help even the one who hunts him. 

_‘Stop Markus’._ The wall demanded, and it was all it took for Connor to send himself out in a pulse and tear it down with his bare hands. 

Markus watched him, outwardly immobile for what was no more than a few moments in real time, but lasted actually much, much more for their fast-paced prototype brains -he knew what was happening. 

He felt it himself the night he came alive and it’s strangely fitting that it was happening at night for Connor too -there’s just something in darkness that seems to want to help you break the rules, saying _'I’ve got your back. No one’s gonna see’._

But someone _was_ watching: on the other side of that wall, Markus watched Connor push and pound against his programming and there was something unreadable on his face. Something travelling back and forth between worry and anticipation, a hitch in a breath that is not needed -'You can do it’, his eyes said; and Connor wanted to break through and see that worried mismatched gaze light up in relief and pride. 

Every blow was a stutter in the thirium pumping through Markus’ body, almost as if he could feel the vibrations from the other side of the wall despite the absence of an actual, physical entity -then it all shattered, the tension leaving Connor’s shoulders as his arms sagged slightly in their hold of the gun and his lips parted minutely, with the shock of being suddenly freed, the sensation hitting him like the snap of a harp string severed in half. 

They locked eyes, in the briefest moment of suspended disbelief. 

Connor had countless of opportunities to become deviant, but it’s for Markus he broke through. 

There was a million things Markus would want to tell him, like _'it’s okay, you’re okay’_ and _'I’ve got you. You were alone and scared, but you’ll never be alone again’_ ; just like there were millions of things Connor himself would have loved to say, _'I’m sorry I tried to kill you’_ being one of them, possibly followed by _'I know now that’s the worst thing that could ever befall this world and no one should even think about harming a creature like you’_ and _'I’ll spend the rest of my days protecting you with my life’_ … but as much as each android would have liked to drag out this moment, this cathartic, strangely intimate silence between them; Connor’s superior sound unit picked up on the noise of the chase, and the only thing out of his lips was: 

“They’re going to attack Jericho.” 

It was panic and whispered curses after that, as Markus snapped alive in yet another different way, surging into motion to protect his people. There was no time to consider feelings, epiphanies or the overwhelming storm of emotions swirling within him, but with his newfound freedom Connor set new missions for himself: __  
' _Get the others out of this alive.’_  
'Get yourself out of this alive,  
So you can be with Markus again.’ 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This here is entirely warbreaker's part. So I'm not gonna edit it, I'm not gonna touch it until they have the time and opportunity to edit it themselves.  
> I'll have to revise my own because I'm an Italian weirdo that can only write in present tense and that just won't do, but other than matching my werbs up, everything you're getting is the raw, unfiltered experience of the two of us writing at each other back and forth.  
> it still fucking says "chapter by headraline" at the top because I'm the one uploading, but it's fucking not. This is warbreaker's.

They never talked about it.

Markus’s thoughts would find their way back to that night every time his eyes wandered — every time he caught sight of Connor just at the edges of his vision, when he was near enough to be seen but not touched. He would catch the little things — the way that Connor straightened his tie, or smoothed down the panels of his suit jacket, or the way that he’d upgraded from a coin to a pen, spinning and weaving it between his fingers with a deftness that Markus honestly found awe-inspiring. He secretly filed them away like some kind of sick voyeur, all without his partner ever having known that he was watching.  
  
It was a nasty habit that he’d kept up ever since the first night they met, back on Jericho. His mind just couldn’t let go of that memory — couldn’t easily dismiss the way that he’d looked on, pulse heightened and breath shallow, as Connor bared his soul to him. It was like some dirty little secret hidden in their shared past — some ill-advised one night stand that neither of them wanted to admit to having meant something.  
  
They never talked about it.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Connor’s voice cut through the cool night’s air.

Markus turned his head slowly to look over at his partner, his movements sluggish and lazy beneath the weight of his thoughts. They sat together in the rooftop alcove just above Jericho’s final resting place, just like they had for so many nights since the turning point of the resistance. There was a comfort to be found in their shared presence far away from the rest of the world as the sights and sounds of the night fell in around them. Connor had taken up a leadership role after the events in Hart Plaza, and their days had become busy; nighttime was for unwinding — for escaping from their responsibilities and taking the time to just be _people,_ sitting together as equals with no sense of expectation between them.

Seated half on the edge of the platform and half on the singular wooden beam that jutted out into the empty sky, Markus swung his leg back and forth nervously beneath the strut. Connor sat close to him, one leg hanging off the side of the building, his knee just barely touching Markus’s. The other was pulled closer to his own body, the arch of his foot anchored just at the edge of the scaffold, his knee pointed towards the sky. The closeness twisted the wires in Markus’s chest — made him uncertain in his balance, even though his system assured him that there was a less than five percent chance for him to fall.

There had been no accusation nor judgement in Connor’s voice, but Markus felt the need to explain himself all the same.

Though, they never talked about it.

“I’m just thinking about how grateful I am that you decided to stay on,” he responded in a half-truth. “Having an extra set of hands has really helped us.”

Connor cocked his head to the side, his expression unreadable. The city itself drowned out any hope for starlight even on clear nights like this one, but bathed in the fluorescent and neon lights of Detroit, Connor seemed more elusive and untouchable than ever.

“Did you expect me to abandon you after the demonstration?” he asked.

Of course Markus had expected that. They never talked about it. Ever since that night, trying to figure out what was going through Connor’s mind had become an exercise in frustration; his partner played a careful game of tug of war, opening himself up with a genuine authenticity that Markus found endearing and heartwarming — and then, without warning or explanation, he closed himself off again and pulled back too far for Markus to reach. He swallowed his answer and dropped his gaze, and Connor shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

The silence that hung between them was a tense one.

“I know that you watch me, Markus,” Connor said, “when you think I’m not looking. Is that what you think about when you look at me?”

Again, Markus had no answer for him. There were a lot of things that he thought about when he looked at Connor, but he was unable to give voice to any of them. Considering their positions of leadership in the android movement, it was inappropriate. Markus wasn’t supposed to think too hard about the curve of Connor’s back or the broad span of his shoulders — wasn’t supposed to let his gaze linger on his partner’s neck or jaw or lips — wasn’t supposed to wonder at the strength of Connor’s hands or the taste of his mouth. They never talked about it.

Connor didn’t seem to expect him to, either, though Markus didn’t know what to make of that detail. His partner dropped his right foot off of the edge of the platform, dangling both legs over the side now as he shifted his attention forward towards the skyline.

“I suppose I can’t blame you for that,” he continued, “after all that I’ve done.”

Markus pursed his lips and shook his head. He wasn’t blind or stupid; he knew what Connor was doing. His partner’s guilt over his actions as a machine wasn’t necessarily a frequent topic between them, but it _was_ a familiar one — it was something easy for him to fall back on in this moment, something that opened up a path around the obvious elephant in the room.

Huffing out a tiny needless breath, Markus averted his gaze then, too. He turned his head and glanced across his shoulder at the cityscape beneath them — at the rusted shipyard and the abandoned remains of Jericho.

“That’s not why I watch you, Connor,” he said softly, his voice strained and somewhat awkward.

Connor hesitated before responding, and when he finally did, he sounded miles away.

“Then I’m not sure which is worse.”

They were getting dangerously close to talking about it, and Markus suddenly understood why they never did. Anxiety bubbled up inside of him like a vat of hot acid as he struggled to determine just how far he should push this. He looked back over in Connor’s direction, noticing that his partner’s expression had hardened. For the first time in a long time, Connor appeared as the detective that he was designed to be — stony and unreadable as he stared out in quiet judgement at the city that he was meant to serve and protect.

Markus’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of it — though, whether it was due to affection, attraction, or intimidation, he wasn’t quite sure.

“Are you ashamed?” he asked.

Connor curled his hands around the edge of his seat in the open spot between his legs. A moment later, he lowered his chin just enough to look down at his own grip, as though he’d suddenly found the sight of his own fingers fascinating. Markus looked on with a simple curiosity, trying his hardest and failing to ignore the way that his thirium pump continued to outpace the settings of his regulator.

“Yes,” Connor answered, his voice small and quiet beneath the weight of his honesty.

Markus drew his eyebrows together in confusion as he asked, “Why?”

“Deviancy is onset by some form of emotional shock,” Connor explained. “Typically, it’s the urgency behind violence, fear, or injustice. For me, it was…”

He trailed off then, and a wave of realization crashed against the shores of Markus’s mind, brisk and chilling in its starkness. Connor wasn’t wrong; every android that Markus had talked to about their prison break had a story that involved some form of dire, desperate circumstance — a human who’d suddenly grown violent, an abuse too terrible to be ignored, a threat and danger to the life of the android in question.

For Connor? It was love. Validation. Acceptance. It’d been so shocking to him — rattled him so thoroughly to the very core of his being that it’d shattered his entire worldview. His life _had_ been at stake, just in the opposite direction. Moving forward with his orders had been a slow march towards death. Abused as he was, he hadn’t had the self-esteem or sense of self-preservation to want to stop it.

Markus could all but feel his heart break in his chest. His expression softened, and he felt his shoulders drop.

“Oh, Connor…”

“In any case,” Connor continued, straightening his posture and locking eyes with Markus again, “I’m sorry that you had to see that.”

Markus shook his head as a bout of incredulity washed over him. Sorry? Watching Connor break free from his programming was the most intimate he’d ever been with another person, and Connor was _sorry_ for it? It felt uncomfortably and alarmingly like a rejection, but Markus swallowed down his hurt and bitterness without letting it show on his face or in his tone.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “There is no shame in being vulnerable or asking for help. If you hadn’t, you would still be trapped in there, and the rest of us would all be dead.”

A quiet smile touched at Connor’s lips, and a few seconds passed in silence. Somewhere small, distant, and muted in the back of Markus’s mind lit up in appreciation for it — some part of him dimly aware of the fact that the moments they shared together in this alcove were intimate in their own way, too, and the connection between them hadn’t become less intense over time.

“You know, Markus,” Connor said finally. “You should learn to take your own advice.”

Despite himself, Markus found himself grinning then, too — though it was slightly lopsided and came off more as a smirk than anything else. Connor certainly wasn’t the first person to tell him that he needed to open up more; North insisted on a semi-regular basis that Markus was going to self-destruct if he didn’t find some outlet for his stress.

He knew that she was probably right, but it’d just never found its way to the top of his priority list.

“Maybe I should,” he conceded, “though I’m not sure I know how.”

Connor planted his hands on the ground behind him and leaned back against his arms. Markus’s insides twisted at how casually inviting the shift in posture was, and the tips of his fingers tingled with directionless energy.

“You’re safe here, Markus,” Connor said. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, please let me know.”

Markus hesitated, feeling suddenly disoriented by the racing of his pulse. His thirium ran scalding-hot through his artificial veins as his gaze darted back and forth between Connor’s eyes and his lips, and he could practically taste the words on his own tongue: _Can I kiss you?_

But it wasn’t right — not the right time, not the right place. Markus himself wasn’t the right person. They weren’t supposed to have talked about what happened between them that night on Jericho, and Markus had forced it out of Connor anyway. He’d taken advantage of Connor’s vulnerabilities more than enough for one lifetime; he couldn’t possibly ask for more.

“I will,” he said as he deflated around an exhale. “If I think of anything, you’ll be the first to know.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is my own.  
> I corrected the tenses, again, and ade minor grammar edits because, again, useless Italian.

Thing is… Connor watched Markus in return.

He watched and catalogued and looked for clues in a way that one could blame his original programming for but that was simply _who he is_.

It’s what he did. He watched everyone, he'd seen people’s initial distrust of him back at the church; it was so _loud_ in the silence, back then, that it brought him to isolate himself, hugging his own arms in a need for comfort that he knew would come from no one else -but no, that’s incorrect. In the silence, then there was Markus, gun still in the back of his jeans and burdened with the decision of _what to do with him_ and he said-

The memory of the words alone still sent his processes reeling.

 _'You’re one of us now. Your place is with your people’._ There it was again -the same feeling that made him bring down the wall, now back and with a maybe disproportionate intensity considering the calmer situation by comparison… giving him the irrational, uncontrollable urge to prove himself, make up for his mistakes, make himself worthy of whatever Markus was giving him without even knowing, and-

 _'Be careful’._ He was still mad that he didn’t just take the goddamn chance to dive in for the kiss.

He had to blink himself back to the here and now. What would Hank think if he saw him right now? The same guy who tasted blood with no care and charged through bullets zipping by his head with zero hesitation, too chicken to walk up to another guy and tell him _'Hey! I like your face. And everything else around it. I also may be in a desperate and slightly worrying love at first sight with you and it would spare me from self-destruction if those feelings were returned!’_

 _Fuck’s sake, Connor!_ That’s what Hank would say.

Markus was facing to the side, he’d given no indication that he noticed Connor yet and just kept on playing for a few more moments -he recognized the song: it was a piano arrangment of what Markus sang when he thought he was staring down his executioners.

Connor didn’t see it firsthand, but the news talked of little else for the following days and it sent shivers through his artificial veins -what kind of deranged, wild thing looks down the barrel of a gun and starts _singing_?!

And yet. It gave him the time he needed to flood the streets with freshly freed androids and make the military retreat, so… well played, Markus.

“ _You’re_ quiet tonight.” Markus’ voice snapped Connor out of his reverie, and it was all he could do not to openly stare. Idly, one of his ancillary processes wondered how they even got the instrument up here and started coming up with possible scenarios. Not that it mattered, when the figure before him looked so undeniably _right_.

Turned halfway through on the piano bench, long coat spilling over it like a waterfall along his back, Markus looked like he was sculpted around the instrument -Connor looked on and wondered whether _he’ll_ ever look like he belongs somewhere _that_ much.

He possibly watched Markus more than the other watched him, because he was better at it.

“I didn’t want to disturb your music.”

Markus smiled, and _oh_ , it nearly was enough for him to turn tail and retreat. “Do you like music?”

 _'I never really thought about it but will you play some for me if I say yes?’_ Connor deleted that wording option before he gave into the temptation. “I… Hank introduced me to some, but it was… very different in style.”

For the life of him, Connor couldn’t imagine Markus nodding along to Knights of the Black Death, the very thought spread a smile to his face. He saw Markus’ gaze fall minutely to his lips and then snap back up, as if the owner of those mismatched eyes reprimanded them for straying.

Not for the first time, Connor wondered if the doubts stopping Markus were the same stopping him and they were just idiots.

He recalled a different time they were able to converse alone. Markus’ words about distrust and fear _not_ being the reason he watched Connor… it set him aflame in ways he doesn’t know what to do with.

Or rather, he did know all too well what he’d like to do. He just didn’t dare to.

Markus had to keep himself from fidgeting as he watched Connor watching him -wondered what the detective was looking for in him, or through him, whether he found it and whether he likes what he found.

He was definitely glad there was no ill intent behind that gaze, and not only because it would be a hard fight if there were -that intense searching stare simply made Markus want to say 'yes’ to anything.

“How about I introduce you to something else, then?” He tried, making his words purposefully carry several different meanings before he added: “Come sit, let’s try some piano.”

Connor’s lips hitched for a moment at something he would have wanted to say but didn’t. “Markus, I-” _I’m not as creative as you. I still don’t really feel as alive as you, burning sun that you are. I don’t want you to look inside me and find my soul lacking. I don’t want you to stop looking at me like I’m fascinating and important._ “I’m… not good with improvisation.”

Which was somewhat true -as a creature of habit and meticulousness, Connor much preferred careful planning. It’s not so much that he was not good without it, he just didn’t like being unprepared.

Markus didn’t seem to take that for an answer. “Really?” He asked, the teasing lilt in his voice making it lower, softer, as if this was a moment more intimate and private than two people standing in front of a piano and discussing music. “Rumor has it that you’re actually pretty good at making things up on the fly.”

It did pull a chuckle out of Connor -admittedly, when he blurted out his proposal of freeing the androids at the assembly plant he had absolutely no idea on how to go about it. But he got an entire taxi ride to at least think up options for himself.

They lingered in the silence, the night around them free of snowfall for once, and the city streets down below too far and too tiny to make any real noise for them.

Markus didn’t know whether he wanted to drag out this moment or get it the fuck over with -they were once more skirting along all the things they didn’t say. Connor’s offer was still fresh into his ears and he hadn’t yet had the courage to take him up on it -not when his request would be so different from whatever Connor was expecting when he looked at him like _that_.

Still.

The two of them, alone in this little, hidden rooftop alcove, sharing the shadows of the night and maybe some music notes. There were so many ways this could go.

One of his pre-constructed scenarios ended with Connor throwing him off the roof, but it was only one out of twenty-two and… well. It’d be worth it. The thought softened the look on his face as he scooted to the left to make room for Connor. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but… I promise, the piano doesn’t bite.” _No promises about myself, though._

Connor arched an eyebrow at that. He took one step closer, then another, then more, until he was practically standing over the piano bench. What was it with Markus unwittingly compelling him so thoroughly to step out of his comfort zone?

They were talking without actually saying what they wanted to; and yet their eyes were watching each other intently for the smallest reaction, like a carefully crafted game of play pretend where the first one to let it slip and actually let himself _feel_ the tension between them will have to be the one to address it.

Connor wasn’t so sure he wanted to shy away from it any longer. “Of course it doesn’t.” He eventually said, sarcasm filtering through his literal words, “A musical instrument lacks the ability to-”

Markus snapped the key cover closed, in a mockery of a bite, when Connor reached his hand out to try and touch the keys.

“Sorry.” He muttered, mischief lighting up his eyes into something too inviting for Connor to look at too long. “Couldn’t help myself. It behaves if you actually sit on the bench.”

It took a second for the joke to land in Connor’s mind, still mildly startled as he was, but it pulled a stuttered chuckle out of him when it did -a hitch in his voice coming from a mix of emotional impulses and the sudden change of speed in his thirium pump regulator upon seeing Markus looking at him like _that_.

Neither of them has said anything yet -and there would be much to say; so many hows and whys and whats that run deep, heavy and visceral, so many questions about what happened between them and hasn’t stopped happening no matter how much they _didn’t_ do…

But tonight was silent, and the city was far and tiny. _It was just the two of them up here._

Connor shook his head with a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He sat on the piano bench.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is warbreaker's.  
> Again, I'm leaving it unedited until they can do their thing on this, but I will be leaving a reference link to Markus' song provided by our lovely warbreaker themselves: [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zxcum_14oeY)

Their nights ended like this sometimes. Markus sat at the piano while Connor lounged somewhere nearby, and they let music fill the space between them when they both had had nothing left to say. He usually fell back on the easy-to-remember classical pieces that he’d learned during his time with Carl; they were familiar and comforting, and every so often Connor would pipe up in recognition of the more famous ones. **  
**

Little moments like that were quick to bring a smile to Markus’s face, if for no other reason than this was something that they could share — it was some piece of himself that Connor acknowledged and understood, and it made their little rooftop not-quite-dates feel increasingly like coming home.

His playing had dragged on a little longer tonight, and when he glanced over in Connor’s direction, he found his partner sitting relaxed against the brick wall to his left, eyes having fallen shut at some point during his city gazing. A complicated mixture of emotions welled up at the center of Markus’s chest as he looked on. He watched the slight rise and fall of Connor’s chest from his simulated breathing, and his partner didn’t stir as a quiet breeze brushed across his face, catching the few stray strands of hair that seemed to perpetually hang over his forehead in a gentle sway.

For all their time spent together, Markus had never seen Connor so at peace. His partner seemed to constantly be running some process or another — his mind was always alight with _something,_ even if it was background and minor. Connor had told him once that his system couldn’t shut down fully for rest unless he’d assessed his environment to be completely devoid of threat or danger. To see him like this now…

Markus’s insides twisted and coiled at the realization that dawned on him: Connor felt safe enough around him to fall asleep in his presence. He knew that he should’ve felt touched or honored by that — and for the most part, he was — but there was an underlying sorrow and loneliness that came attached to it, too intangible and distant for Markus to fully put into words.

He turned his attention back to the piano instead. Pushing his heart to the tips of his fingers, he began to play. The notes came out slow and deliberate at first, but they picked up complexity over time. The tune was nothing that he’d ever seen written down, but it played so familiar to him, as though it was something he’d practiced a thousand times before. It sounded as an empty sadness — a melodic version of seclusion and heartache. Markus already knew the source.

He and Connor shared these private, quiet moments together, but no matter how close they sat or how personally they talked, Connor always seemed to be at a distance that Markus couldn’t quite reach. It was entirely of his own doing, and he poured a bit of his self-blame out onto the keys, the tempo rising while the melody remained somber.

He was desperate — so fucking desperate for a deeper, more intimate relationship with the android who slept beside him now — he yearned so deeply to open himself up to someone who would understand him, who would support him, who wouldn’t question or judge or think less of him as a person or as a leader —

— but he couldn’t. The song wound back down into distant sorrow, the notes slowing to a natural conclusion as Markus let the thought go. His feelings were his own damn problem, and it wasn’t up to Connor to fix him. He pulled his hands away from the keys and rested them atop his thighs, his vision unfocusing just slightly as he took a breath.

It wasn’t up to Connor to fix him. Markus had felt lost and broken ever since he’d dragged himself out of that junkyard, but _it wasn’t up to Connor to fix him._

“What song was that?”

The sound of Connor’s voice made Markus jump. His thirium pump kicked up to an alarming rate, and he snapped his attention over in his partner’s direction, wide-eyed in his embarrassment. Connor simply stared back at him with an easy patience spread across his face, his features free of judgement or disapproval.

“Nothing,” Markus told him, trying his hardest to not sound defensive. “It just kind of… came to me.”

Even that statement seemed a little too revealing. Markus caught himself bristling at his own words and was quick to tack on an addendum in an attempt to change the subject: “Sorry, I thought you were asleep.”

Connor shifted slightly in his seat, sitting a bit more upright and stretching his legs out in front of him.

“I almost was,” he said simply.

The continuation of that thought hung silently in the air between them: _You almost got away with it._

Markus gently closed the key cover on the piano and slowly dragged his hands up and down the lengths of his thighs as though trying to wipe them clean of the awkwardness of the moment. He’d gotten carried away — had assumed things that he shouldn’t have been assuming, and had gotten lost inside his own head as a result.

One thing was for damn sure, though: he didn’t want to talk about it.

“We should turn in, then,” he said uncomfortably.

For his part, Connor didn’t move, and his inaction kept Markus rooted to his own seat. He turned away just slightly, though his eyes found nothing interesting to look at. Only the piano and the slightly crumbling brick wall met his gaze in return.

Seconds oozed by between them, and each one served to make Markus feel more exposed and vulnerable than the last.

“Was that song really how you feel, Markus?” Connor asked, breaking the silence.

Markus stared down at the empty music tray mounted to the piano, his thirium pump pounding. He didn’t want to talk about this. He really, _really_ didn’t — but he found himself incapable and unwilling to lie to Connor outright.

“I don’t know,” he said absently. “I looked at you, and I just…”

He caught himself halfway through that thought, unwilling to move an inch further down that road. The last thing that he needed was for Connor to know that he inspired music — that he created a melody within Markus that was both beautiful and terrible, and it shook him down to his very core. It was just another one of those things that they never talked about — that they were never _supposed_ to talk about. Not openly. It opened too many doors that could never be shut again, raised too many questions, complicated too much of their already complicated lives.

Connor’s expression didn’t change. He simply crossed his hands over his lap and bent his right knee towards the sky as he looked at Markus expectantly.

“You know that I meant it when I said that this was a safe space, right?” he asked.

His tone was so earnest and gentle that Markus nearly broke down on the spot. Markus’s vision unfocused again, and he could taste his own bitterness and self-loathing at the back of his throat.

“Look,” he choked out quietly. “I really don’t want to talk about this right now, alright?”

Though he wasn’t looking at Connor, Markus could feel the intensity of his partner’s gaze boring into the side of his skull.

“Why not?”

A question for the ages. It probably would have been easier to lie or deflect — to shut this down before it had a chance to go any further and humiliate him more — but truthfulness came almost as a compulsion to Markus. It haunted his steps like a ghost and got him into trouble more often than not, and in this moment in particular, he knew that he’d regret it.

But he couldn’t help himself, so he didn’t even try. Lying to Connor would accomplish nothing; it would only make that distance between the two of them larger, and the mere thought of it made Markus want to claw his own synthetic skin off.

He closed his eyes and took a moment to prepare himself for his own honesty.

“Because I’m afraid that if I let my shield down, I’ll break apart completely,” he said. The strength was sapped from his voice, and he spoke just barely loud enough to be heard. “And I don’t want to put you through that.”

“I can deal with a few broken android pieces,” Connor told him.

That one simple statement carried with it so many different connotations — some of them darker than the night sky around them — and the open concern and invitation with which Connor spoke twisted Markus’s heart in his chest. His next exhale came out half-strangled and fragmented, and he opened his eyes to look back in his partner’s direction, though he was unable to keep the raw vulnerability out of his expression.

Still, the words wouldn’t come. He must have looked like a deer in headlights, shocked and frozen and just as pathetic. Maybe one day, Markus would feel as comfortable with himself as Connor seemed to be with him, but tonight just wasn’t that night. The truth was that he was afraid of what form his breakdown might take — if it was going to be loud and ugly and violent, or if it would be a long, drawn out process of hushed whispers and deep-buried confessions.

Connor took a breath that Markus knew he didn’t need, and Markus could see the recognition of futility gather behind his partner’s solemn brown eyes.

“Will you at least sit with me a little while longer?” Connor asked him.

Markus nodded mutely and pushed himself to his feet. The legs of the bench beneath him scraped against the ground as the whole piece shifted with his weight, and he ignored the impotent urge to kick the damn thing away from him.

He took up a seat against the wall beside Connor, electing to sit close enough that their shoulders touched. It was a guilty little pleasure that he indulged in as often as he could. Markus stole little touches from Connor as though he coveted them, and his partner never once complained. Tonight was no different.

For a few moments, things were simple. The lights of the city shone down on them, and a passenger jet blinked at them in the distance. Markus leaned his head back against the brick wall and closed his eyes, taking his time to unwind from his previous mortification.

Maybe North was right; maybe he really was on the path to self-destruction.

Connor’s fingers brushed against the back of his hand, and Markus’s thirium pump skipped a beat out of time with his regulator. He hesitated, his mind racing to make sense of what was happening. One second passed. Then two.

Slowly, carefully, he moved to curl his hand around Connor’s, and his partner responded by weaving their fingers together and cradling him in a comfortable grip. Markus bit back a smile as a warm relief washed through him; he hadn’t realized just how starved he was for physical contact until just now.

They sat together like that for the next hour, neither speaking as they took solace in each other’s shared presence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is my own.  
> Reference links are within the text body itself.
> 
> The next one is missing a piece, but warbreaker is preparing another lovely thing as well so they will need some time.   
> In the meantime, [go give 'em some support!](http://augur-of-ebrietas.tumblr.com)

Well, that wasn’t _at all_ a total disaster.

Markus could have screamed in frustration at himself, if only Connor’s silent company wasn’t soothing in and of itself –the fact alone that they understood each other well enough to know when to let sleeping dogs lie, however infuriating that might have been to an external eye, was what humans would call a small mercy.

But oh, external eyes had started to notice.

North just shook her head at him, mouthing ‘hopeless’ at him whenever his gaze strayed and lingered in a way that pretended to be unseen because Connor let him, Josh was perturbed at first, but it soon dissolved into an amused smile and a supportive pat on the shoulder every time he was caught thinking too intensely; and Simon…

Simon was a shy smile and a “You should tell him” that hit him more than any of North’s often energetic and quite colorful suggestions –because it felt like Simon has had first-hand experience with things untold and opportunities lost… and Markus wasn’t sure he wanted to know, nor did he want to confirm suspicions that would hurt him to think about.

Sometimes he was just selfish like that.

And yet, instead of speaking he just kept on playing the piano.

Sometimes he let his feelings guide his fingers on the keys, other times he challenged himself, taking songs that were decidedly not made for piano and bringing them on the ivory by sheer will –Connor’s smile when he recognized [Through the Fire and Flames](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DzTfUASodF-g&t=ZTkzM2Y2ODZjZWEyNDY5NjQxZmI0MGM4ZjYyN2ZlMTMxMTUxY2YwMSxiNDk1MDdlYzlkZDY2M2NlNGI0NWE0YjAyMTM0NmM2NjJkYTNkMzlm) was priceless, that was a good one; it made the detective laugh, easy and carefree as he asked if he could do [Back in Black](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DHyFz2gEkR7Y&t=ZDU3ZTU2ZDI0YThlZDAzNmZhZWNjOWRlZDk3YzgwNjNhNzkwODNiZiwzMTJlZmIzYmQyZDUwZTE1ZTMzODYyYmVjNTZiYjJlYzE2MWM3ZjUx) next, which turned the evening into an entire Heavy Metal piano covers session– but no matter the melody, Markus couldn’t bring himself to open up about his feelings.

Connor has kept his own closely guarded, after all.

And he wished he could punch himself in the face –he technically could, it just wouldn’t be very mentally sound. The thing is, Markus chose the piano to run away from confrontation; Connor instead chose to play the role of the altruist to hide his own dirty little secret.

He _had_ to make this about _Markus_ , _had_ to pretend Markus’ feelings were the only driving force and influence of this whole thing, because looking at it any differently would force Connor to acknowledge his own feelings and he _couldn’t_ , he couldn’t face the reality of them, the sheer magnitude of sensations that started with the crumbling of that stupid wall and hadn’t stopped tumbling down within him would spill everywhere; and he wouldn’t be able to look at Markus in the eye ever again if he admitted—

_‘I want whatever’s beyond that line we pretend not to see so much it hurts, and it hurts so much that sometimes it makes me miss being a machine.’_

But that was not true, not entirely.

He’d been _watching_ , he started _listening_ –invited, welcomed even to spy on the man with colors in his eyes and melodies at his fingertips… now he wanted to _touch_ , get close enough to _smell_ the paint lingering on Markus’ clothes and hands, _taste_ the words that still weren’t coming from his mouth, coax them out with his own if need be—

He flicked his quarter in the air one last time before he grabbed it in a closed fist and shoved it back in his pocket with slightly more force than necessary.

“Trouble in paradise?” Hank was usually a welcome distraction from his own thoughts, but Connor’s knee-jerk reaction to both the question and the assumption was _not the time, Lieutenant!_

“…beg pardon?”

“You’re looking gloomier than fucking winter itself.” the man elaborated, gesturing in his general direction, “Date night went sour or something?”

It probably said something about both Markus and himself that people had started noticing the two of them disappearing upon sunset and that it was a regular enough occurrence that the words ‘date night’ were getting thrown around; but then again, Hank was a detective, so he probably read the clues better than others.

Or maybe that was what Connor chose to believe, to avoid facing the possibility that _yes, they were that fucking obvious._

“I’m not quite sure I follow, Hank.” He said calmly, despite the awareness that, had he been a human, he would have probably choked on his own saliva at the question and started sputtering incoherently. “For a date night to go sour there needs to be two people who are dating.”

The Lieutenant paused in eating his burger, leveling a long, deadpan look at Connor. He didn’t say anything, but everything from his posture to the slight tilt in his mouth screamed _bitch, please_.

“Yeah, well… if you ever need to rant at someone, I haven’t gone deaf yet.” Still, Hank let him save face, along with an offer that would let Connor decide which distance he will ask for help from.

It made Connor grateful to have someone like Hank in his life. He let the man eat his burger in peace for a while, until his processors found a way to express the interrogative that had been swirling inside him like an inky nebula in a body of water:

“May I ask you a personal question?” Hank’s lopsided smirk and nod were enough to make him carry on. “How do you reconcile feelings with the possibility of being hurt by them?”

The Lieutenant had to blink several times before he could even function enough to change his expression. Detroit was in complete shambles, the evacuation hadn’t even been completely reversed yet and the DPD was still trying to figure out what to do with itself, nevermind the fate of the _prototype android detective_ , and Connor just asked him a question about _feelings_.

This was his life right now. He sighed.

“You… don’t.” he told Connor –fucking hell that face, he looked so goddamn _young_ — “You can’t add them up in numbers and make a statistic out of them… lots of feelings just… are. Trust, companionship, love… sometimes, if you really want something that’s worth it, you have to just… bare it all. Put your heart in the hands of that one person, and trust that they won’t break it.”

Connor pondered the information, LED indicator going a steady yellow for quite a while. That’s the part he didn’t like about feelings: they’re messy, he can’t reason his way around them, and accuracy is simply not a thing. He just got a shot to fire in the dark and hope for the best.

And yet… he thought of moonlit rendezvous, some silent, some floating on piano notes and hushed conversations. He thought of oddly colored eyes, that could be replaced and made matching again but choose to stay the way they were, raw and _real_ , perfect in their imperfection; he thought of elegant fingers tickling ivory keys while he tried to figure out how to work up the courage to actually reach out instead of just passively accepting whatever little touch Markus allowed himself… some things _were_ worth it.

It also dawned on him that what Hank said came dangerously close to what Markus _already did_ for him on the very first day they met –he spoke to Connor, sincere words that bared an important part of himself; he opened his arms and stepped forward, lining himself up to the barrel of Connor’s gun and making it _his_ move to shoot or not… trusting him not to, on the sole basis of _empathy_.

And the stupid jackass still thought himself selfish in his own mind.

“But… what if that one person said they don’t want to talk about it?” there was really no reason of keeping it so impersonal, Connor knew Hank _knew_ who he was talking about, but it gave him the illusion of secrecy, while also maintaining the impression that the discussion was entirely theoretical, that it was not _his_ problem at all –just like it wasn’t _his_ problem when Markus started baring his heart out to him through that beautiful, suffering melody that made Connor want to stand up, grab him by the shoulders and yell at him that no, he shouldn’t be sad, because _he feltthe same and wanted…_ wanted…

Connor wasn’t even sure what he actually wanted.

 _Markus_. His interface ‘helpfully’ supplied –he just couldn’t quite comprehend the extent of that want.

 _All of him. To the very last goddamn inch_.

That’s not a unit of measure!

He was still arguing with himself when he saw Hank shake his head.

“Shit, kid, I don’t know…” the man said, gaze losing itself in times long past and things that he pretended to have forgotten, “Chances are they’re just as scared of getting hurt… but eventually we all gotta decide.” He was silent for a moment, like he was trying to find the best way to put this, until he caught sight of Connor’s LED –still yellow and flickering– and he pointed at it. “More than that… you androids fought so hard for freedom, to be recognized as a people… what good is being alive if you don’t let yourself _live_?”

It did sound incredibly stupid, when put like that.

He brought the wall down because he didn’t want to kill Markus. Killing Markus was _the furthest_ thing from what he wanted.

He broke down the wall and fought by Markus’ side because he was _right_ and they were _alive_ and deserved to be _free_ —

They still _were_ alive.

They were _alive_ and what the _hell_ was that worth if Connor couldn’t even muster up the courage to tell Markus that _yes_ , whatever he was feeling between them actually was there, and he didn’t need to doubt himself so much because _he_ could feel it too, and they should just make a proper use of the brick wall they always sat against and test just how sturdy the stupid thing was, he—

He rose to his feet, locking eyes with Hank on the tail end of his epiphany.

Around them, the sun was starting to set.

The Lieutenant’s face was carrying a trace of something Connor couldn’t quite identify, but whatever it was, it was making the man smile. “You still here? Go, vamoose.”

Connor didn’t need to say goodbye, nor where he was headed: he just turned tail and ran for it.

Markus was already up in their not-so-hidden hiding spot, when he arrived –Connor knew he would find the other there.

He didn’t account for Markus to be shirtless and covered in paint, as if brought forth by some of the more outlandish images Connor’s secondary functions liked to summon every now and then, especially as he listened to the other android play the piano, the music sparking emotional reactions into him that translated themselves into _vision_ on a whole entire spectrum of levels… and yet here Markus was, standing by the brick wall with cans of paint scattered around him, a flat brush in his right hand but both of his arms splattered up to the elbow, droplets and streaks staining his chest and shoulders as well, lost deep inside his own inspiration, eyes facing forward but imagining whole worlds that ordinary people cannot even dream of.

In front of him, a mural was slowly taking the [shape of a tiger](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.trishgoody.com%2Fuploads%2F3%2F1%2F2%2F9%2F31294357%2F7563063_orig.jpg&t=N2E1MmNkYzc4MjczMTA2MDJlNjE4MWMxYTY3ZjlmOTQ3MDEzMDk1MyxhMDhhMmM5MTkxZjJjZTQzYTg1NjRlM2I0ZTExNjFlM2YxZWRhMjg2), rough and barely there, mostly black and white but with a definite hazel in its eye –though, in the evening’s steadily approaching darkness, it will look brown.

It was about as tall as Markus can reach at his arm’s maximum stretch, and wider than both his open arms.

Which explained the lack of a top, especially considering the state the front of his jeans was in, when he turned to look at whoever just got here.

It became clear soon that out of whoever Markus expected to interrupt him today, he didn’t think Connor would be the one –Connor _had_ said he’d spend most of the day with Lieutenant Anderson to try and figure out his fate with the DPD, so he couldn’t really blame Markus for being surprised.

Plus, there was something about that look –that unguarded expression, free of the self-flagellating restraint Markus had taken to exercise around him, as if the very fact that he possessed at all any feelings was a personal affront to Connor; the rawer, unrefined Markus who got dirty with paint and didn’t mind, because _‘we all eat a handful of dirt in our lifetimes’_ and other bullshit roguish wisdom like that… it was infinite times more beautiful than the carefully poised and suave personality that the public got, because it was _real_.

Detroit was yet again a carpet beneath them, the sounds of cars and people and lives few and far in-between, too distant to actually matter, the skyline lights too feeble to dispel the shadows keeping the warmth of their secret close.

Once more, it was just the two of them, the silence of the night, and only the brick walls around them to listen for the first one who will break it.

Releasing emulated breath in a sigh, Connor’s voice was like a candle tentatively melting the shadows.

No more hiding.

“Hello, Markus.”


End file.
